


One Big Missed Steak

by TheBrideOfTheWind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Puns, Cafe owner Bellamy, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Humor, Journalist Murphy, M/M, Vegan/Vegetarian Stereotypes, lots of banter and confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrideOfTheWind/pseuds/TheBrideOfTheWind
Summary: Bellamy owns a vegan café and Murphy loves burgers, worlds collide.





	1. Why did the chef quit? - Because they cut his celery!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing on this for ages...Just thought Murphy would be the most militant about eating meat with Bellamy being kinda chill...Hope you like it!

Murphy has always liked the simple things in life. A decent job. Nice people surrounding him. Good food. And after weeks and weeks of investigating to write this one important article, there was only one thing he wanted. Only one thing he craved for: a burger. A plain burger. Not one of those fancy ones, just a simple cheeseburger. Preferably served by his favourite pub which also happened to be the only one in town. 

Right now him, Miller, Bryan and Raven were standing in front of said pub, or they were standing in front of the place where the pub had been, mere weeks ago.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Murphy asked, staring at the green and orange sign in front of him in disbelief. This had to be some kind of sick joke. 

“The Mush-Room” was emblazoned on the narrow house in disgusting bright colours. “Give peas a chance” was written under it, as if it was designed purely to mock him and his existence. Kind of comedic, although it felt more like a tragedy.

“This can't be true,” he continued. “Miller, tell me this is a bad dream. Can you pinch me? Do you see what I see?”

“Sorry, man. I fear this is exactly what it looks like,” Miller said, hanging his head, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his jacket.

The old windows were painted light green, the small room was bright and filled with wooden tables and benches, looking like it came straight from some hipster hell. The whole place was ridiculing him. It was a conglomeration of everything he hated. Colours. Vegans. And try hards. 

Murphy huffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. „I'm hungry,“ he whined. Brian and Miller were watching him like someone might watch a wild animal ready to attack. Raven looked more like a cat that ate the canary, though, barely able to contain her amusement.

“Maybe we could-” Miller suggested cautiously. Bryan gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, while Raven tried to stifle a laugh by faking a cough and staring at the menu intently.

“Glad you still enjoy me suffering, Reyes,” Murphy grumbled. 

“Always, my love,” Raven chuckled. “Always.”

“You don't think I'm going to eat any of this crap,” Murphy insisted.

“Come on, man. Give it a try. Maybe you'll like it,” Miller said, putting his arm around Murphy's small frame and steering him towards the door. Bryan and Raven followed. Looked like he didn't have much of a choice there.

“Fine. But this is the first and the last time I'm going to set foot in this...whatever this is.”

The room looked even more horrendous on the inside. Everything was too loud and shrill for his taste. He remembered the old pub with nostalgia, the dimly lit room with dark wood and brown leather, warm and cosy. It had provided the perfect setting for eating burgers and drowning his sorrow in alcohol, preferably scotch.

This place, on the other hand, was atrocious. This was an abomination. He couldn't even repeat too many time how much he disliked the colours. He felt forced to be bright and happy, too. And he hated being forced. And he hated being bright, he liked to tell himself he was more of a dark jeans, dark sweater man. Not in a hipster kind of way, though. More in a brooding artist kind of way. In a “Don't talk to me, I'm a sarcastic asshole, that thinks his personality is reflected best by this non-colour” kind of way. Maybe he was not only allergic to house dust but also to happiness. How pathetic.

His destructive thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing his throat loudly. Apparently, they already sat down at a table and the sudden noise caught him by surprise. He nearly fell down from his chair due to his usual grace and body control, but two strong arms steadied him and prevented him from embarrassing himself in front of a whole room of meat haters. Maybe he didn't imagine the way some of them had sniffed at him as if they saw right through his weak act as if they could smell his desire for meat oozing out of him at every pore. 

Murphy looked up and realized he had missed that the others had already ordered and he was the next one. The waiter, and possible owner of those aforementioned arms, wore an orange T-Shirt, but it was not just the colour that offended Murphy, but also the fact that it actually looked good on him. 

Orange on himself made him look like a vampire who didn't get blood for a while. And the arms looked good, too. But who was he to swoon over a vegan waiter's buffness. Was this even a word. He might prefer the word beefy instead, just for the sake of the bad pun. 

“What can I get you?” The guy asked kindly, gesturing at the menu in front of him. He was really handsome at second glance, too. Tall, tan, dark curls and eyes, freckles. But that didn't make Murphy hate him less. He didn't discriminate. Especially with vegans - they were all the same, trying to spoil his daily dose of meat for him, lecturing him about their way of living, blah blah blah.

Murphy examined the food on display. Everything looked normal, suspiciously normal. 

“I take one of the muffins,” he muttered, shifting in his seat nervously.

“Ah, the carrot, apple and zucchini muffins, good choice,” the guy beamed at him. If he didn't know better he would think he was on drugs. No one was that happy all the time. But who knew with those tree huggers.

“The carrot, apple and zucchini muffins?” Murphy squeaked, trying to hide his disgust. They had looked like normal muffins to him. 

“Um, I think I just want something to drink then. Not that hungry. Just give me a coke.”

“I'm really sorry, Coca-Cola may be vegan, but their products are not exactly compatible with our philosophy...”

Murphy gave a loud groan. This really was the worst day of his life.

“But, may I offer you something else?” the guy rambled on. “We have a variation of home-made lemonades or I can make you a milkshake if you like? With soy milk or almond milk?”

“Why don't you just give me a handful of leaves to chew instead?” Murphy snarled while the guy seemed to get smaller and smaller, the friendly smile nearly disappearing from his face completely.

“I...” he started to speak hesitantly. 

“Listen, I just wanted to have my usual burger here, so my friends persuaded me to have a try before I realized that you hijacked this place to turn it into some weird hell hole for you and your lot. Which was clear to me the moment I set my eyes on this room by the way. The only reason I entered in the first place is that I'm fucking hungry and may have had the illusion to get at least some decent food in here. Which was an illusion after all -”

“Yes, he is always such an asshole,” Raven interrupted his rant and shrugged at the waiter apologetically. Murphy threw an angry look at her, which she tried to soften by patting his thigh, only earning her another scowl, though.

“All right, all right, I'll give you this,” the guy said suddenly. “I get it, you are annoyed and all, and you pictured this evening differently. I know where you're coming from.” Murphy snorted in return, a frown on his face.

“But let's make a deal. I am going to make you a burger now. If you don't like it all your food is on me, you leave the restaurant and never come back again. And if you like it, I am hoping to see you here again soon,” he finished, eyes sparkling. “And you have to be honest.” Murphy had to admit that he was really good-looking. Even at a third glance.

“And I'm Bellamy, by the way.”

“John, but everyone calls me Murphy.”

Bellamy looked at him, weighing him up, then asked: “So you're in, John?” 

The use of his first name had brought a sour look on his face, but Bellamy didn't seem to mind. 

“Or are you afraid you might like it?” he taunted.

“Oh, don't blame me for your financial ruin later. And thanks for the free food!” Murphy said, confident of victory. There was no vegan burger in the world able to convince him of anything. 

The other three were grinning at him. “What,” he said. He didn't understand what was their deal now. They were always pestering him when he talked to a good-looking guy. And he hadn't even been flirting this time. Nothing to see there.

 

Ten minutes later Bellamy emerged from the kitchen with a plate, setting it in front of him with a “bon appétit” and a small curtsy. It was kind of charming actually.

All of them looked at him expectantly as he took a first hesitant bite. He chewed slowly, keeping a straight face the entire time. The tension increased the more and more time passed, but nobody tried to ask for his opinion, too afraid of his possible reaction. He grinned slyly at the thought of this. 

“So, how is it?” Bellamy asked him finally. Murphy put down the burger in front of him without hurry. He had to admit that he enjoyed keeping them in suspense, adding an unnecessary dramatic sigh or a little twitch.

“It's...” he mumbled, his mouth full of food, choosing his words wisely to not give away too much.

“It's OK. It's tolerable,” he said after another long pause. He was really enjoying this.

It was delicious, but that was something he would never concede. The bun managed to be crispy and fluffy at the same time. The patty consisted of some undefined vegetable, but it was spiced in just the right way. The sauce was a little bit spicy too, adding an interesting twist. 

“So I won?” Bellamy beamed at him again. This guy seemed to be radiating. “Let's call it a pity win. And just for the records, I would have preferred a big meaty burger instead.” 

“Eww, gross,” Bellamy said, a disgusted look on his face. 

“If god wanted us all to be vegetarian, why did he make animals taste so delicious?” Murphy called after his quickly disappearing figure. 

“Never heard that one!” 

“It's not that I don't like animals, I just prefer them crispy!” Murphy added to cement his image. He was a little bit proud of himself.

Maybe he deserved Raven kicking his shin under the table after a little bit. Not that he cared what this vegan thought of him. Nope. Definitely not. Not in the slightest. And he most definitely didn't check him out when he walked away either.


	2. Can vegans still use cheesy pick-up lines?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy proves his dedication to vegan food...for science

“Thank you for your favourable review in the paper,” Bellamy welcomed him with a broad smile the next time he entered the café. He didn't exactly volunteer for this review and didn't write for the local section very often, but his boss apparently thought he was predestined to be an expert on vegan restaurants. Not that he did have any choice in this. It was enough that he was the only one to know about the existence of said café, if nothing else, had a taste of their “fine” cuisine.

“ _If you're into fresh home-made food and drinks, “The Mush-Room” is the new place to be in town, merging the organic trend and the hipster lifestyle, attracting both the youth and the twenty-somethings just as much as the health-conscious or people who want to try something different_ ,” Bellamy recited by heart. 

“I'm astounded, if I didn't know better, I would think you like this place,” he added.

Murphy felt his face heating up. He definitely liked this “place”. And he usually didn't handle compliments well, so he just mumbled something under his breath in return, about his colleagues suspecting he had been bribed to write this article, which only caused Bellamy's grin to broaden. 

If a nice smile and kind words counted as bribery, they had a point and he was indeed corrupted. So he didn't protest against their accusations to avoid them digging something up that had better stayed hidden. And digging up things was a special skill most of his older colleagues shared. It was better to stay silent on that matter. They lived what his boss always said to them: “Dig hard and deep, and if it really hurts, you can be sure you're on the right way.” 

He still remembered his first days at the newspaper like it was yesterday, how everyone seemed to know tiny little details about him and his past he was sure he didn't tell them, to the point he doubted his own memory. 

He really liked his co-workers. Most of the time. They weren't the ones you tell your secrets to, though. And especially not a “secret” like this one.

 

From now on, Murphy was a regular guest at “The Mush-Room”. Most of the time he just drank a coffee, but occasionally, when none of the others were present to catch him, which happened often lately, he would even eat a burger. Or a muffin. He lived for those dark chocolate muffins.

He told himself he went there due to the lack of alternatives. Out of nostalgia. Cause he was a masochist. But this wasn't exactly true. The true reasons he went there day by day were dark curls and freckles. Crinkly eyes and deep laughter. Bellamy was smart and funny and he radiated a positive attitude that he wasn't even aware had been missing in his life for a long time. Not that he would ever admit this in front of his friends. Or even worse, in front of him.

And Bellamy was warm. He welcomed the guests in his restaurant with open arms and a happy smile. He was particularly good with kids. The few instances Murphy had witnessed him interact with one had left a fuzzy feeling inside his stomach. Which was especially strange cause he had never thought about children that much. Let alone liked them.

Bellamy was nice to him, too. Yet he was friendly with everyone, which attracted other people, obviously. Murphy observed girls looking at him, then blushing and giggling behind their hands. There had been one or two guys, watching him when he went back to the kitchen, a little smile or a little touch where it wasn’t necessary every now and then. Everyone seemed to love him and the café usually was filled with all kinds of people.

He knew people like Bellamy though. Bright and shiny. Too bright and shiny for someone like him, who absorbed the light, who preferred to be shrouded in darkness. If nothing else, he had an image to maintain. A reputation to lose. The sullen, somber, sarcastic asshole. A dark poster boy for the rebellious, the original Byronic Hero™.

It was against his nature and better judgement, he felt stupid coming there all the time. But he couldn't resist. He was as drawn to Bellamy as other people were. Stupid and naive maybe, but there was nothing wrong about it.

And yet sometimes it was hard. Sometimes he caught Bellamy's gaze lingering on him. Often he would add a charming comment and a radiant smile while bringing him his order. He would open his mouth a little bit too wide when he laughed and throw his head back every time Murphy made another stupid joke. Or their fingers would touch when he handed him over his usual cup of coffee. He may or may not have imagined the way his hips always seemed to sway a little bit more when he served him. 

As time went by, they even developed a little routine, whenever Murphy entered the café, they had the same dialogue. 

“Hey, Bellamy?” Murphy would ask. 

“Yes?” the other one would reply. 

Murphy would add the newest vegetarian or vegetable pun, followed by an eye roll and a fake laugh from Bellamy. He worked hard to impress with something fresh and new every day.

Despite some of their obvious differences, they sort of became friends quickly, which didn't go unnoticed by the others. Miller used to tease him, while Bryan watched them with a small smile on his face. Raven volunteered to get them a room and Mbege just sighed mildly, whenever he told him something new about Bellamy. Those were the kind of friends you wished for yourself. 

“Looks like you've been here without us a couple of times,” Brian stated with mock-disappointment, when they finally were all together again and his friends witnessed his and Bellamy's exchange to its full extent for the first time. Even Mbege decided to leave his room and join them, which didn't occur often.

“Yeah. I needed to do some research. Self-experience. Get into the story.”

“Of course,” Mbege yawned. “Your article has been published last week,” he added nonchalantly.

“Well...apparently I'm a dutiful person. I'm quite dedicated to my writing.”

“I don't remember this sense of duty regarding your last article, though. What was it about again? I can't remember! Must have been some weird play nobody knows about,” Miller chimed in.

“Is this a conversation or an interrogation, officer?” Murphy asked and rolled his eyes at him.

“It's more a monologue if I'm the only one talking. Having said that,” Miller continued, not letting him take a breather, “what's really going on with you two?”

“We're just friends,” Murphy mumbled, and hoped the way his face felt all hot of a sudden wasn't caused by the brightest blush creeping up his pale cheeks. Wouldn't be the first time his body betrayed him like that. 

“Just friends?” Brian asked. “Your love letter in the newspaper begs to differ.”

“That was a job! I'm a professional journalist, for God's sake!” He knew he would live to regret it. Objecting would only make things worse. And he feared this was just the beginning. This wouldn't end anytime soon.

“Professional,” Raven coughed behind her hand and if looks could kill, she would have died at that very second.

“Thank God you're not a fraud. You would be starving to death...” Miller drawled and Brian chuckled, good boyfriend he was. These two were inseparable and insufferable sometimes.

“Just friends?” Raven parroted and mustered him intently. “Um, if you're just friends, I guess you wouldn't mind if I go over to him and ask him out? Or would you?”

“No, I wouldn't mind,” he answered, a little bit proud how convincing he sounded. He felt kind of tense, though. Agitated. Waiting for the final blow.

“OK. He's not my type anyway,” Raven said after a small pause, deliberately overlooking his sigh of relief, though Miller eyed him suspiciously. Damn him for his observance. Thankfully, he just gave Bryan an ambiguous look and didn't add a smart comment to embarrass him further, which he was really grateful for. He owed him a drink sometime. 

He was sort of glad, Mbege didn't comment on the matter either. His best friend was usual a man of few words, a silent observer, but he had the habit of being dead on with his deductions. Maybe his choice of friends wasn't too bad in the end after all.

Not that their discovery would have changed something. If anything, it would only have added fuel to the fire and left him in the same place he was in before. He wasn't sure himself what was going on with him and Bellamy. He just didn't know.

They liked each other, apparently. He liked to be together with him. They played off each other very well, clicked in a way he hadn't with most of the people he knew in his life. But that was all. Nothing more. Bellamy was a businessman first and foremost who needed people to visit his café. He wouldn't be the first customer to fall for a waiter's trick to sell one more drink or one more meal. Or to receive a generous tip.

He knew he reached the lowest point, when the first thing he did after coming home that evening was to type “ _signs you're more than friends_ ” into google. He didn't even expect to find something useful. But his friends weren't useful either. And the internet had never let him down. 

“ _15 signs you're more than friends_ ” didn't prove to be helpful, though, and Murphy slammed his laptop shut in frustration after the fourth sign “ _you can't wait to see them_ ”. It had been a bad idea. The internet knew nothing. At least about him. 

Apparently, denial wasn't just a river in Egypt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of sappy and confused Murphy in this one, more Bellamy in the next chapter. Hope you like it!


	3. Why did the mushroom get invited to all the parties? - Cause he's a fungi!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Halloween party at a vegan café, what could possibly go wrong?

It was another evening when the “Mush-Room” hosted a little Halloween party with organic cocktails, pumpkin pie and a band playing outside in the backyard. Murphy was sitting with Raven in his usual corner, he had his second pumpkin punch, the alcohol already making his thoughts a little mushy. 

The two made quite the pair, Murphy with his hair combed back, wearing a black tuxedo, a white shirt and a vest topped with a bowtie and a black cape, while Raven wore a tight red jumpsuit, a tail and devil horns.

“Are you dressed as yourself, like every year?” Raven teased.

“Could say the same about you. And no, I'm Bela Lugosi's Dracula, but how would your uncultured ass know that,” Murphy hissed, while he scanned the room for any sign of Bellamy.

“So how many vegan burgers are you going to eat till you finally tell him why you're really here,” she asked him, a mischievous look on her face.

“I don't know what you're implying. The options in this town are quite limited, you know.”

“I'm just stating facts,” she replied with a grin. “And I mean...he seems to like you. I don't know why, but he really seems to like you.” 

“Are you finished with your psychoanalysis now?” Murphy asked, catching sight of a swirl of dark hair and orange from the corner of his eye, finally. He could imagine Bellamy in the seventies vividly, wild locks flowing in the wind and flowers in his hair. Free and at ease. Not that his locks weren't wild these days. They stuck up in every possible direction, defied the laws of gravity.

At the moment he wasn't looking very hippiesque, though, wearing a carrot costume with a little green hat on his hair. Everyone else would look ridiculous, he was sure about it. But somehow Bellamy managed to pull this off. It wasn't fair.

“Just be careful, or someone might get the impression you really like vegetables…” Raven chuckled while raising an eyebrow. He gave her a dirty look, then proceeded to watch Bellamy scurry around the café as if nothing happened. 

He was sure, Raven would call him looking “lovelorn” or “smitten”, or every other possible word straight from a romance novel. In his opinion, it was normal to watch your friends. Especially when they were dressed as a vegetable. 

Bellamy was occupied by serving the unusual amount of guests, but he had support from his sister Octavia, a beautiful dark-haired girl dressed as a green bean, and her boyfriend Lincoln, who was tall and muscular, but looked slightly less intimidating with his pumpkin costume.

Raven was occupied, too, exchanging flirty looks and smiles with a blonde “angel” – how convenient – at the table next to them. It gave Murphy room to concentrate on the things he liked to do best: observing people and minding his own business.

There was a group of obnoxious men in their twenties at their other neighbour table, eyeing Octavia and the other women in a way that made his skin crawl. When she left their table the next time and walked towards the kitchen, Murphy overheard one of them say: “What a nice piece of ass. Thank God for those girls and the booze around here, cause the food is shit.” 

He emphasized his statement by spitting the rest of his meal in front of him. His friends laughed at his comment, clicking their glasses together with too much strength, the shards clinking loudly as they touched the floor and the table.

Murphy's aversion had been building up the whole evening, he didn't even know why he reacted so sensitive, but this was the straw that broke the camel's back. 

“Watch your tongue, man.” So much on minding his own business.

“Huh, you're saying?” the guy asked, a threatening undertone in his voice.

“I said, you better watch your tongue,” Murphy repeated, carefully accentuating every syllable while he rose from his chair to face the man.

The latter stood up, too, towering over him several centimetres. Murphy wasn't sure this was an entirely good idea. He cursed his damn big mouth, his habit of talking before thinking things through.

“What do you want, big boy? Lost your tongue?” the taller man growled at him.

There was a millisecond, an infinitesimal part of his brain that hesitated, then Murphy's hands connected with his chest, shoving him slightly. To be honest, he wasn't even sure the other staggered in the slightest. 

It wasn't his first physical fight, there had been a time when he got in a brawl every week. He had always been someone with a bad temper, who tended to provoke people and asked for trouble. Yet, he hadn't acted out for a while. He was a little out of practice.

Murphy tried to duck, but his opponent was too fast, his fist striking him right on his left eye, sending a numbing pain through his head. He stumbled, when another blow hit him square on his jaw and he could taste blood on the tip of his tongue. The final swing hit his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He couldn't breathe for a moment and began to totter, till he finally lost his balance and fell. The last thing he remembered were two strong arms grabbing him, then darkness enveloped him.

 

The world was blurry and sombre when he woke up, head pounding.

“Hey Rocky, you're back,” a low voice greeted him, sending shivers down his spine.

“Yeah,” he groaned. His face hurt like hell and his left eye felt like he had been hit by a truck. Not that he knew how being hit by a truck would feel.

“Where the hell am I?” he asked, taking in his surroundings with squinted eyes. The walls of the room were plastered with various posters of comic book characters, the floor and the bookshelves spilling over with books, comics and DVDs. Across the leather sofa he laid on, he discovered an enormous flat screen, many times bigger than his own anachronistic TV, which had belonged to his dad, but was able to show colours at least.

“It's the bat cave, obviously,” Bellamy chuckled. “I'm just waiting for Alfred. But he never turns up and so I have to keep this clean all by myself.”

“I can see what you're talking about,” Murphy scoffed, taking another look around. “But how did I get here? Did you carry me upside the stairs bridal style?” 

Bellamy laughed. “Yeah, exactly. Just like in the movies. Though you were a lot heavier than the usual princesses.”

Murphy made a face at him. “Shouldn't you be – at your party?” he deflected.

“Lincoln and Octavia are there. Wanted to make sure you didn't get a concussion or something. Or you fell down somewhere and hurt yourself even more.”

“Thanks, mommy,” Murphy said, catching Bellamy's little grin from the corner of his eye. „Sorry, that I attacked one of your customers. Hope I didn't get you in trouble.“

“Hey, he was a dick. And I finally got a chance to show that those ten years of karate weren't for nothing.”

“You hit him? What's with give peas a chance and stuff?” Murphy gasped in mock-horror. “And shouldn't it be called carrot-e?” He took a deep breath and Bellamy looked at him warily. “Is it even allowed for you to have _beef_ with someone?”

“To be honest, it was more Lincoln who basically dragged him outside. He makes one scary pumpkin.” Murphy nodded. That was something he could relate to.

“Tell me, why did you hit him anyway?” Bellamy asked, a serious look in his eyes suddenly.

Murphy hesitated. “He was disrespectful. And I didn't exactly hit him. Just shoved him a bit.”

“OK. Just, hold back a little the next time, yeah? Don't want you to wake up in the hospital.”

“Are you saying that I can't defend myself?”

“No, it's just – just be careful, OK?” Bellamy mumbled. Maybe it was the lighting, but Murphy was sure he spied the slightest tint of colour in his cheeks all of a sudden and he looked quite nervous, shifting in his seat restlessly. The thought of someone worrying about him made a warm feeling grow in his own stomach, too, though.

“Fine, carrot man. I do what you tell me. How could I object to the mighty orange vegetable.” 

“Why do you have the need to call me a carrot when you look like an ancient hipster version of yourself, anyway?” Bellamy grumbled, squinting his eyes at him. 

Murphy threw up his hands in despair. “God, not you, too. I'm – Bela – Lugosi's – Dracula! And I'm not a hipster!” he hissed. 

“Come on. You're the most hipster person I know. First of all, the defining quality of every hipster is, that they deny being a hipster. Second, they pretend to hate other hipsters, because they are oh so different and unique. Third, they wear all those carefully combined clothes, hair always carefully disheveled, too, and I bet they even use ancient devices and those coffee-making-things instead of a normal coffee machine...”

“I'm not...” Murphy started speaking, then faltered when he finally processed all of Bellamy's examples.

“Oh God, you're right. But to my defense, a moka pot just produces the best coffee. If you know how to handle it,” he rambled on, his voice trailing off.

Bellamy looked at him and smiled, eyes crinkling. “Just admit it, you are the biggest hipster.”

“Don't you think I'm at least a little bit unique? And different?” Murphy pouted.

“You're very unique and very different,” Bellamy said and patted him on his back cheerily. 

“I think it's pretty rich of you to call me a hipster when you're the biggest nerd, though,” Murphy said, gesturing at the piles of comic books and posters on the wall. “To be honest, I didn't take you for such a nerd.” Bellamy sighed. 

“Hey it's fine, I don't carrot all,” Murphy reassured him. 

“Will this ever stop?” 

“Not sure. I think there are plenty more...”

Bellamy got up and turned his back on him ostentatiously. “I think we really should go to bed now, I – I mean separately,” he stuttered, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks again.

“Of course. Never dared to think something else,” Murphy grinned and winked. Smooth. “I can go home if you like, though.”

“No, no, I'm not letting you out in the streets alone. Make yourself comfortable.”

“As comfortable as someone can be on a couch,” he uttered under his breath. 

“The wicked are always ungrateful.”

“Are you quoting Cervantes on me? What's it going to be next? Dante? As if this isn't hell enough?”

Bellamy just chuckled softly and disappeared to his bedroom, leaving his door ajar as if he needed to keep an eye on him. Murphy tried to sleep, but there were too many thoughts swirling around his head. And he still felt a little bit dizzy, whether from the alcohol, the fight or Bellamy's presence, he didn't know. 

“Hey, Bellamy?”

“Hm?”

“I'm wondering about something, maybe you can help me out there. Have you ever thought about what would have happened if Batman wasn't bitten by a bat but by a frog instead?”

“That was Spiderman.”

“Spiderman was bitten by a bat?”

“No, Spiderman was bitten by a spider. Batman chose the bat as his symbol, there are multiple scenarios, in one a bat crashes through his window, in another, he sees one outside his window.”

“But what if he saw a frog instead? Would he have been as popular as Frogman? With a green costume and little frogs to throw around, that would stick to his enemies clothes with their toe pads. And he could have some toe pads himself to climb on buildings.”

Bellamy groaned. “I would make a good Frogman, don't you think so,” Murphy continued. “I do look like a frog sometimes. And I think a tight green suit could do wonders for me, what would you say?”

“Why would someone want to look like a frog? I would say, you're drunk or still suffering from a serious concussion. And I'm pretty sure someone already created a superhero called Frogman.”

“Pah, you're just jealous that I would make a much better Frogman than you ever could! And I'm not drunk,” Murphy hiccuped, rolling onto his side to demonstrate his displeasure. Not that Bellamy could see him through the door anyway. “Drunk in love maybe,” Murphy said and started singing the first verse. 

“God, you really need to sleep.”

“But, I'm not tired!” Murphy whined. And pouted to himself. Again.

“Do you ever shut up?” Bellamy asked.

“Only if you ask me nicely.”

“You're unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I know. I have that effect on people.” Murphy's statement was followed by a long sigh and he was sure if he could see Bellamy right now he would be rolling his eyes. 

“Night, wannabe Batman,” Murphy yawned.

“Night Frogman,” Bellamy whispered back at him. But Murphy was already asleep, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Maybe for once, things were going great. Maybe he wouldn't screw this up. Maybe for once, he would get the fairy tale ending he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, lots of talking this time, hope it's not too weird ;-)


	4. Why did the banana go to the doctor? - Because it wasn't peeling well!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some "unexpected" revelations. Murphy loses his head.

“Good morning sunshine,” a sonorous baritone woke him up in the morning, disrupting his slumber abruptly. Murphy's befuddled brain needed a moment to assign the voice and the room he was in, then he grunted, unhappy with the sudden disturbance. 

“Are you always in such a jovial mood in the morning or just trying to torment me in my weakened state?” 

“Are you always so eloquent or just when you're hungover and battered?” Bellamy retorted, stifling a laugh. Then he opened the curtains with no mercy, the broad daylight hitting Murphy's eyes, eliciting another low growl and making him squint.

“Good god! Did I do or say something to you yesterday? I apologize in retrospect if you stop this!”

“You mean besides starting a brawl in my vegan café?” Bellamy asked. “Or dancing naked on the table?” 

Murphy gave him an incredulous look. He really wished this was just a joke, but it was possible. It was possible, maybe even probable. And God be damned, he couldn't remember the night before.

“Just kidding!” Bellamy exclaimed brightly and patted himself on the back. Very funny.

“You're an asshole, you know that,” Murphy huffed while he turned on his stomach and pulled the blanket over his face. He hated to be woken up. He hated the sunlight blinding him after he just woke up even more. And what he hated the most was being teased after he was roused violently, even by someone as cute as Bellamy. 

“I could say the same about you. I just wanted to ask you if you would like to have some coffee, too, but maybe I'll reconsider my offer.”

“Don't you dare,” Murphy warned him as he peeked out from under the blanket, batting his eyelashes, then proceeded to stretch himself languidly. 

When Bellamy turned around and caught a glimpse of him, he seemed taken aback for a second, but recovered quickly. “So you'd like a coffee? Black, as usual, I suppose?”

Bellamy's staring consternated him, so Murphy took a quick glance at his face in his cell phone to check if his look matched how he felt: yes, truly vampiric. His brunette hair was all over the place, crowning his head, his left eye starting to look purplish, his skin translucent, the traces of white paint not making it better. There was a cascade of angry red bruises that went down his jaw, like they were painted sloppily – with a fist. A true sight to behold. 

He yawned, lazily combing his fingers through his hair: “Yeah, yeah. As black as my soul. You know I need my caffeine. Especially in the morning. And I have to finish an article till tomorrow, so your coffee better be strong.” 

“Aye-aye, sir, your wish is my command,” Bellamy said, saluting him with a mocking grin on his face.

“If only you would be that courteous and obedient always,” Murphy mumbled under his breath while Bellamy poked his tongue out at him. 

“Only if you're a good boy,” Bellamy replied, eyes dark and voice a low whisper suddenly, and Murphy nearly did a back flip of the sofa. He wasn't exactly sure when this conversation had turned this way. He didn't like it. He didn't like the way his stomach somersaulted either. Or the way Bellamy stared at him while biting his lip. 

He could drink his coffee at home, too. Perhaps it was a damn sight better than this. Not that any sight could be better than this. 

Maybe in a real novel, this would have been the moment where the protagonists kissed for the first time. Gave in to their feelings. Big declaration of love. Marriage. Kids. A little house in the suburbs.

In Murphy's version, he stumbled out of the room instead, a fanciful excuse on his lips - “sudden nausea” - and Bellamy's face haunting him until he reached his apartment, chest heaving and head reeling.

Maybe Raven was right after all. He really like-liked him. And he was well on the way to screw this up.

 

Raven called him the same day, all bubbly and excited. “So did he kiss it better,” she teased, simply ignoring the silence on the other end of the line. 

“Because I bet he would, by the way he was all upset cause you were injured and so determined not to let anyone near you. Lincoln and Octavia had to physically restrain him from going after that guy,” she rambled on and laughed as if this was the greatest thing that had ever happened to her.

“I'm delighted I could count on you as always. But you must have been too distracted making googly eyes at that girl on the table next to us,” Murphy countered, annoyance in his voice. Raven just hummed to herself and he could imagine the pleased look on her face vividly. 

“I yelled at that idiot, though, as soon as I noticed your fight. And I held your stubborn little head and helped to wash the blood off your face. I have to say, you looked better.”

“Thank you. But let's not talk further how I managed to disgrace myself, not just in front of Bellamy, but in front of his family and a room full of strangers, too,” he groaned. He wasn't sure he could visit the café in the near future.

“Hush, love. Who would have thought you could woo a man by getting beaten up? It's remarkable. I'm very impressed.”

“I don't exactly know if I “wooed” him. I can't recall a thing from last night and managed to make quite a fool of myself this morning. I truly embarrassed myself. Maybe I just need some time on my own.”

“So, you slept over?” She cooed. 

“Hmmmmmm. Let's not talk about it.”

“Don't be such a grump! We are going to “The Mush-Room” again very soon and you'll be wearing your usual “I am Murphy, I am so deep and serious”-outfit, while you can devour Bellamy with your eyes, but from afar of course,” Raven tried to cheer him up.

“I told you I was Bela Lugosi's Dracula! It's not my fault you are all a bunch of philistines! And the only thing I'm devouring are those goddamn chocolate muffins!” Murphy huffed.

“Come on, Murph, you like him, he likes you, what's the problem?”

“THIS is the PROBLEM! He likes me, Raven! That makes it even more likely that I'm going to ruin everything!”

“OK…”

“And then it's all over! I can't be friends with him, we can't go to the café anymore, no more muffins...you understand that? I'm having a meltdown over here! I'm totally freaking out!”

“Well, I didn't realize.”

“Listen, it would be easier if he didn't like me, I'm pretty much used to that whole unrequited love thing, but this...I don't know what to do, Raven,” he whined.

“So your plan is...to sit this out?”

“Maybe?”

“You can't be serious. I'm going to call Mbege and tell him we have a Code Red. Better call Miller, too. Maybe even Em, yeah...”

“Nononono, don't call her, wait -,” Murphy cried out, all his blood leaving his face, but his desperate plea was only met by the steady “toot toot toot” of the telephone. 

“Fuck, she's going to kick my ass,” he groaned. Em – Emori – was one of the few persons he had known for ages and that didn't leave him during his tumultuous rebel phase. First love, best wingwoman, light of his life, bane of his existence, beautiful, talented, small whirlwind of a person. She was on the road most of the time, exploring deserts and oceans, travelling through jungles, ice and snow. From time to time she used to call, in the majority of cases when Raven ratted him out again, to remind him what an absolute, utter loser he was. Usually, she was right. 

He didn't have any chance to think about Emori, though, cause it didn't take much time and his tiny kitchen was filled with Raven, Miller, Bryan sitting on Miller's lap, and Mbege, all of them looking at him with an expression as if he just kicked a puppy or sold their firstborn to the highest bidder. 

“Raven, what is it this time,” Mbege sighed. “A wardrobe incident again? Or another poison dart frog he wants to 'adopt' because it's so 'pretty and colourful'?”

“I'm sitting right over here, and I can hear you,” Murphy noted, but was deliberately ignored. 

Raven shook her head. Mbege put on a serious look. Bryan grabbed Miller's hand for emotional support. Murphy snorted angrily.

“Oh God, it's another article about Jake Gyllenhaal and how he was snubbed at the Oscars, is it? His boss really must love him,” Miller muttered.

“It's even worse,” she said, while the others watched her, preparing for the worst, and Murphy just sat there and asked himself what he did wrong in his life to deserve this. Everything, apparently. 

“He finally admitted he likes Bellamy and realized that Bellamy might like him back.”

“But that's – that's brilliant,” Bryan exclaimed happily and nudged Miller harder than intended, nearly knocking them both off the small chair.

“That would be brilliant, if he hadn't decided to get cold feet and totally lose it, because he's convinced he's going to blow it anyway – stop laughing Miller – and so his grand plan is to just do absolutely nothing about it.”

Their overall joy died down in a second and was replaced with a mix of shock and confusion.

“What's up with you, Murph?” Mbege asked, bewildered, and looked at him like he had never seen him before. “I mean, what do you have to lose?”

“Everything,” he mumbled, while Raven's cell phone vibrated with a new text message.

“Em doesn't have time to call you right now, but I shall tell you to stop whining and get that man.”

“Come on, you can do this,” Miller said and Bryan tried to reassure him with an “It'll be fine”.

“I don’t know. I really don't. It's like my head is exploding and my stomach goes up in flames, and I can't think straight, and I just – I just can't lose him!”

His friends all gaped at him after his declaration, a sympathetic look on their faces.

“What is it this time,” he snapped at them.

Raven was the first to address him, gentle and careful. “If you really like him that much, maybe just tell him? If this doesn't work out, I'm sure we find another place to go to and I would even bake you some chocolate muffins. Yeah, guys?” Bryan, Miller and Mbege nodded in unison.

“Thank you,” Murphy whispered. Not that he was very keen on Raven's art of baking. His last birthday cake was – to put it mildly – quite interesting. Nevertheless, their support meant a lot to him.

He was quick to steer them out of his kitchen after their pep talk, though, needing some time alone to think things through and wallow in his misery.

Their encouraging words only aggravated his inner turmoil, showing him how deep he was already in and leading to a very creative, alcohol-fueled phase in which he wrote several poems and texts. For the first time in ages, he felt like a real artist, slumped into his armchair most of the time, whisky glass in one hand, cigarette in the other. Like a walking talking cliché.

After writing three odes to Bellamy's eyes, four to his smile/lips and two on his hair, he decided it would be for the better to take a look at him again, in person. Sometimes a confrontation with reality helped to get rid of his fantasies. 

He brought his latest work with him, which was both incredibly pathetic and reckless. Fortunately, Bellamy seemed to ignore him on purpose or just didn't realize he was there. He seemed to be pretty busy – and still really pretty, ripping all his hopes to shred – talking with a group of girls, their laughter filling the whole room. One was particularly keen, grazing Bellamy's arm ever so slightly while she chattered on to him. He didn't seem to mind.

Murphy felt anger pooling in his stomach, and a sharp stab of jealousy deep in his guts. Not that he had any claim on Bellamy. But it exasperated him that this girl touched him so effortlessly while he didn't dare to without overanalyzing every step he made. He had to avert his gaze, cause he couldn't stand to look at them any longer. This could be some great inspiration for more sad poetry, though.

After what seemed like ages, Bellamy finally noticed his presence and greeted him from afar. Murphy wished he would stay there, the last thing he needed right now was him and his pretty face and pretty everything in close proximity. His wishes didn't come true most of the time.

“Hey, what are you doing there,” Bellamy said, a cup in his hand, walking over to where Murphy was sitting and concentrating on the notebook in front of him. He put the cup of black coffee on the table with a loud thump. The sudden noise made Murphy jump, but it took him a moment to notice, it was Bellamy speaking to him. When the realization hit him, he quickly tried to cover his work, but too late. 

He had cast prudence to the wind in his rage and now he had to deal with it. There was a little part of his brain telling him he had been careless with the intent to get caught. Maybe he just didn't care anymore.

He's always been a coward in matters of love, never made the first move, never told someone he liked them. Sooner or later they would tell him if they were interested, or disappear out of his life if they weren't. Maybe this was his subconscious way of dealing with the whole Bellamy situation. 

“It's just – I – just a scribble,” he stumbled over his words while Bellamy reached for the paper and snatched it from his trembling hands. Murphy gasped, but was just left in disbelief, looking at Bellamy horrified while he began to read, mumbling the words under his breath. 

This was the moment when everything would go up in flames, he was sure of it.

“eyes glinting golden at nightfall  
skin twilight-kissed  
unspoken promises in the air

oh, I want to touch you,  
want to steal some of your gleam  
and make it a part of me

so I can illuminate  
the gloom of my own soul  
and get rid of the shadows

get rid of the emptiness  
and occupy it with you  
till you and I are equal

two sides of the same coin  
two blank pages  
their story to be written”

When he had finished, Bellamy gazed at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Murphy saw his whole life flash before his eyes, he felt like a child again, caught by his mother with his hands in the cookie jar. 

A million possible reactions were swirling around in his head. He could laugh at him. Mock him. Tell him to leave and never come back. He could be creeped out. Or worse, disgusted. He could stop talking to him. Ignore him. Ban him from the café. 

But none of that happened. Bellamy continued to stare at him with that strange look, then said, voice low and husky: “That's...wow. I didn't know you write poems, too.”

Murphy could feel a blush creeping up his usually pale cheeks. “It's -,” he mumbled, “it's just easier to write down the words sometimes. Than to speak them out loud, I think.” 

Bellamy nodded. His eyes hadn't left Murphy's, scrutinizing him as if he could look right through him and understand the implications and the weight those unsaid words carried. Murphy was tongue-tied, something he wasn't used to, something he didn't know all too well. Usually, he had a way with words, knew how to deflect with the necessary eloquence or when to make the right joke. Apparently, his ability to speak was proportional to the time he spent looking into Bellamy's eyes. And so the silence felt even heavier in the air.

“It's about my ex,” Murphy blurted out finally, and from all the things he could have said this had to be the worst. Raven would smack his head, when he told her, for sure. He hung his head in defeat.

“Hey, but just to be clear, I didn't take you for such a nerd either,” Bellamy was fast to tease, but his eyes didn't crinkle when he smiled and they didn't talk much after. 

He didn't even need to google “ _how to scare away your crush with as few words as possible_ ” to understand the magnitude of his failure. Sometimes fairy tales could turn into tragic love stories – without the dying part – very fast. Maybe he should have given those damned romance novels a chance…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murphy is the dumbest, hope you had as much fun reading as me writing this :-). I added a tiny bit of Emori, because I love her and still feel sorry about killing her in one of my other fics...


	5. Why did the orange go out with the prune? - Because he couldn't find a date!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation we were all hoping for...

One evening, not long after the party and the other unfortunate event, Raven managed to convince Murphy to set foot in “The Mush-Room” again because she needed a vegan burger. He had done his best to avoid the café, but she could be very insistent and persuading, and he almost never said no to her if she annoyed him long enough. She didn't want to wait on Miller and Bryan either which should have been a warning to him, but he didn't waste much thought on it.

Apparently, his brain had gotten rusty and slow, and his usual sharp senses betrayed him, so he didn't notice the trap before they were sitting and Raven faked an emergency which allowed her to abandon him.

“Raven, you can't -” he begged, trying not to sound too desperate – and failing –, but he couldn't even react as fast as she got up and left, catching only one last glimpse of her disappearing ponytail. At the same moment, he got a new text from Emori: _Good luck. Don't fuck this up. See you soon :-*_. He should have known it was her idea. And he _really_ needed to reconsider his choice of friends.

So that was how he ended up alone in his corner of the café, staring at the wall as if the void could eat him up and delete his miserable existence from earth. 

There still was hope, though. Maybe Bellamy would be busy again and wouldn't even realize there was another customer. Maybe crouching down in his chair could be useful. Or maybe pulling the beanie down deeply into his face would help. Yup, like many of his brilliant ideas, it definitely worked.

“Hey,” Bellamy said, standing in front of him with slouched shoulders and a glaringly green shirt, a crooked smile on his face. “Didn't see you for a while.” 

They actually hadn't seen each other since the night he had read his poem, his absence caused first and foremost by the fact that he hadn't written an article in a week which didn't go unnoticed by his boss, starting an endless lecture about how to overcome a writer's block.

He couldn't tell him it wasn't exactly a writer's block that stopped him from finishing his articles. Ten pages of poems weren't nothing. But glum poetry about pining after your vegan café owning friend turned love interest certainly wasn't what he wanted for the recent issue.

“Yeah, I was busy.” Murphy drawled, gulping down the lump in his throat with visible force. “So you missed me already?” he asked, surprised by his own boldness.

Bellamy laughed, looking pleased. “Absolutely. I haven't been mocked for my choice of food or clothes for ages, and everyone is so damn nice and always complimenting me, it's just plain boring. Don't know if I can survive another week...”

“I feel you. But, um, I really need to work now, sorry,” he said with an apologizing look, pointing at the huge stack of paper and the laptop in front of him that had magically appeared from his backpack. Bellamy gave him a wounded look, then continued to make puppy dog eyes at him, knowing well he was never able to resist them.

“Your t-shirt offends the eye, by the way,” Murphy ultimately cracked and sneered in response, looking at Bellamy's green shirt, his nose wrinkled up in disgust. “Is this your new way to repel insects? Or customers?” It should be forbidden to look that good in bright green, he thought to himself.

“Thank you. And you're holding your pencil the wrong way,” Bellamy shrugged and left to the next table. With a long sigh, Murphy bent over his work, trying hard to avoid all unnecessary distractions, or more accurately, avoiding to glance at Bellamy at all.

“Can I get you something else?” He approached him later. In an epic failure of all his good intentions, Murphy looked up from his black coffee, meeting his brown eyes, then averting his eyes quickly to prevent further damage.

“No thanks. I like the pure and simple things in life,” he answered, trying to sound cool and casual. Which weren't the most accurate words to describe his real feelings.

Bellamy handed him a muffin regardless. His fingers felt warm on Murphy's skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps up his arm. 

“Is this zucchini?” He wanted to know, examining the muffin warily. He still hated the zucchini ones. 

“No, dark chocolate. Just as you like.”

Murphy raised his eyebrows and gave him a lopsided smile. “Thanks.” He then proceeded to take a long and close look at his fingernails. He was starting to feel trapped which was never a good thing. Where were the other guests when you needed them?

“Can I ask you something?” Bellamy said despite all of his efforts to keep him away, closing the distance between them with a long stride and taking the chair next to him. 

“Depends on the question.”

“I just wonder, do you like my food or is there another reason you come here nearly every other day? Blocking out your mysterious absence last week of course.”

His nails seemed to get more and more interesting. He had decided to paint them black the day before. Matching fingernails for you and your dark mood.

When he finally dared to look up again, he noticed how close Bellamy had gotten, sitting directly next to him, their thighs touching slightly. He was watching him with furred brows, head in his hands, chewing on his lips. Murphy gulped, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. The thought of Bellamy's lips always managed to add an extra portion of nervousness. Unfortunately, his nervousness usually also tended to make him glow in an even brighter shade of red than before.

“I don't like your food,” he mumbled, hearing his heart beat behind his ribcage. Thud, thud, thud. The air felt thick all of sudden, making it hard for him to breathe.

“Then why are you still here?” Bellamy wanted to know, his eyes searching, but never leaving his face. Murphy hesitated, weighing in his chances of getting out of this unscathed. For all he knew about maths, they weren't good.

“Because...I like _you_. A lot,” he exhaled with a little huff when he noticed he had been holding his breath the whole time. “Not as much as I like poetry or sleeping or dark chocolate muffins. But more than I like frogs, maybe. You're actually pretty cute – for a seed eater.”

When his eyes met Bellamy's, he smiled at him, dimples on display and eyes crinkling. 

“Oh wow, I'm honoured. I know how passionate you are about frogs,” he said, clutching his heart mockingly. “But, I need to tell you something, too. Ever since the day I met you, you brought nothing but the worst out in me.” 

Murphy raised a curious eyebrow, and his stomach twitched unpleasantly. This wasn't exactly the kind of speech he had hoped for.

“I got cocky. I wanted to punch that guy on Halloween. I've been thinking about eating meat for at least three times.” 

He breathed a shocked “no way” at this surprising statement, but Bellamy carried on, unimpressed. 

“I've read your poem albeit you clearly didn't want me to. I thought about punching your ex, too. And I've neglected my other customers, cause I can't fucking concentrate when you're around with those blue eyes and goddamn lips of yours. And let's not forget your fucking attitude.” He laughed and shook his head. “I have to give you that, you're quite cute, too – I mean, for a carnivore. Morally ambiguous maybe, but nonetheless quite cute.”

“That's a lot of confessions for one day,” Murphy admitted. “But, what now?”

“I could send all the guests home and close the café?” Bellamy suggested with a wink, not entirely serious.

“Fine by me,” he says and winks back.

Bellamy didn't clear the café as he announced, but his guests experienced for the first time what it really meant to be neglected. Raven stopped by to take a quick glance at them, then left with a satisfied grin on her face. Not much later, his phone buzzed with several messages. Overexcited congratulations from Bryan and Miller; a photo of Emori in front of an ancient ruin, blowing a kiss; and last but not least a text from Mbege – always a man of words –, that just consisted of a single “finally”.

 

When all the guests had left, they were sitting together in the backyard, Murphy's feet in Bellamy's lap. The sun had set a while ago, but it still wasn't entirely dark, a soft autumn breeze colouring their cheeks.

“I need to tell you something,” Bellamy said suddenly, with a serious look, and Murphy's heart nearly missed a beat. Again, his mind filled with destructive thoughts. Boyfriend abroad. Dark secret. Mass murder? Definitely mass murder. Nobody could be _that_ good all the time and his cellar has always looked suspiciously big and suspiciously empty for a restaurant. Time to face the truth. 

“You can tell me anything,” he said, pondering if it would be better to close his eyes or look away to remain calm and unfazed. As usually, he decided to get distracted by Bellamy's face instead.

“Alright,” Bellamy exhaled shakily. “There's zucchini in the chocolate muffins, too,” he told him with a grin and a face that didn't look guilty at all.

For what felt like ages, Murphy stared at him blankly. In his mind, all the muffins he had ever eaten and all the teeny little pieces of zucchini in them were put together to form one gargantuan grisly zucchini in his stomach. “So you deceived me the whole time? Just to tell me this in my most vulnerable moment? I could have died!”

“Oh come on!”

“What if I was allergic to zucchini? I could be dead!”

“But, you're not? And in my defense, you never asked,” Bellamy said, grabbing Murphy's feet and rubbing them gently.

“Will you visit me in prison then?” Murphy asked out of the blue while he untangled his feet from Bellamy's grip and leaned forward.

“What?”

“Wait, you're right. You can't visit me in prison after I MURDERED YOU!” Murphy yelled, taking Bellamy by surprise and tackling him to the floor. They rolled over a pile of leaves until Bellamy had enough and pinned him down with one hand. 

“Stop using your karate tricks on me! It's unfair!”

“I'm not doing anything,” Bellamy laughed but loosened his grip a little bit. “You're just not as strong as me.”

“Let – me – go!”

“Only if you behave yourself.”

“Fiiine. Then at least bring me a blanket, the nights are frigging cold these days.”

“So you'd rather stay here all night and freeze yourself to death than to promise you won't attack me?”

“Yeah, apparently,” Murphy hissed and struggled again to break free from Bellamy's hold. They stayed like that for a moment, blue eyes glaring at brown. None of them faltered.

“You're so quiet all of a sudden? You're tired already? You want to give up?” Bellamy taunted him after a while.

“Over – my – cold – dead – body, Blake!”

“OK. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Guess I have to carry you again then,” Bellamy chuckled, picked him up and threw him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. This vegan diet couldn't be too bad after all.

“You asked for it, love,” he said and put him on the kitchen counter, using his confusion to place a quick kiss on his nose. Murphy actually giggled in response.

“So you're still mad at me?” Bellamy asked, bending over him and tucking some loose strands of hair behind his ear.

“I was never really mad. Just like to be carried around and roll all over you.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. I knew it,” Bellamy grinned and kissed his nose again. “Jeez, it's still cold. Give me your hands.”

With an annoyed eye-roll, Murphy stretched out his hands.

“Don't give me that look,” Bellamy said and took one of his hands between his own to rub some warmth into it. “You're freezing. Can't lose you on our first night as a couple.”

“I'm twenty-two, not twelve.” Murphy huffed.

“Sometimes, I wonder, though.”

“Says the guy with a room full of comics.”

“Fair point. But back to you Mr. responsible adult, where is your sweater, by the way?”

“I – I didn't bring one, cause I didn't plan to stay that long,” he admitted sheepishly.

“See,” Bellamy smirked, triumph on his face. “Stay here.”

“Where would I go anyway?”

He returned a few minutes later with a green and a black hoodie. “Take this,” he said, handing him the green one and pulling the black one over his own head.

Murphy looked at him indignantly, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. “Seriously? Robin? You really expect me to put this on? Can't I at least be Batman?”

“I thought green is more your colour…”

Murphy gave him another eye-roll but put the sweater on without any further protest. “Satisfied?” He groaned and held up his sweater paws in a gesture of defeat.

“Absolutely,” Bellamy beamed at him. “You want a hot cocoa and another muffin as a reward?”

“Don't push your luck, man. All I can think about is how many zucchinis I've eaten all this time without even knowing…”

“Come on, it's not too bad. Maybe just four, altogether.”

Murphy held his stomach and winced in pain. “Say no more.”

Bellamy just continued to laugh and disappeared into the kitchen. When he emerged and handed Murphy his cup of cocoa, their hands touched and instead of flinching, this time he grabbed Bellamy's hand, nearly causing him to spill the hot liquid over their fingers. 

“Careful,” Bellamy warned while he put the cup on the table and out of Murphy's fatal reach before he entwined their hands.

They sat closely together, slurping their hot beverages in comfortable silence, feet touching beneath the table.

“You got some chocolate on your face,” Bellamy said after staring at him intensely for what seemed like ages. He couldn't remember someone looking at him like that, ever. Like he was something precious, something worthy of attention. It made his head hurt. If he wouldn't be sitting already, he was afraid his legs would wobble under him. 

“Hngh?” he mumbled, still chewing on his second muffin. From time to time, he wasn't sure if one of the supposed pieces of chocolate wasn't zucchini instead. It took all of his willpower not to shudder in disgust and to turn his attention back to Bellamy.

“There,” Bellamy touched the corner of his mouth. 

“And there,” he touched the other corner.

“And maybe there a little bit, too,” he murmured and gave him a soft peck on his lips.

“So, are you always going to need me to eat muffins to kiss me? Cause I'm afraid, this is not healthy. Neither for you nor me,” Murphy laughed.

“Are you always going to be a smartass when I'm trying to find an excuse to kiss you?” Bellamy teased him.

“I _am_ a smartass. And I don't think you need excuses anymore.”

“Fine,” Bellamy said and pulled him into another kiss. Murphy hummed happily. That was something he could get used to.

Maybe not every story had to end like a fairytale. Sometimes a cocoa, a dark chocolate muffin – zucchini or not – and a cute boy already caring a little bit too much was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, this has been quite a journey! Hope you like the ending, I went a little bit overboard, hopefully it wasn't too much...


End file.
